From behind the gates of innovation 

And deep within an inventors thoughts 

Lay the eyes of eagles, sharp 

Posed for rare predation 

Yet, through schisms of brilliance 

And writings of laymen's nonsense;

Rhetoric left for only those blesséd enough to understand 

We are left with decaying incense 

For she waits for no shame

Nor is she merciful to the weak 

Rather, in her steps of prosperous giants 

She clears paths for those who do not know her name

But she asks for no recognition 

She asks for no glory or escapades 

She simply treads back into her lair 

To renew her ignition 

She does not fear the fire she creates; she embraces it

She does not wander in the dark;  she illuminates it 

She does not cower in ignorance; she erases it

Her ever-growing playground is the stars 

And her resting place; the Earth